


This Is The Golden Age of Something Good And Right And Real

by iliveinfantasies



Series: The Worst Witch 2018 Winter Fluff Event [3]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Gen, Hicsqueak, Mistletoe, Other, ww2018winterfluffchallenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 23:20:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16842469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iliveinfantasies/pseuds/iliveinfantasies
Summary: Day 3: Mistletoe----“Pippa,” Hecate snapped, a little waspishly, hand clenched tightly around a bottle of stinging nettles. “What happened?”Pippa bit her lip, lightly, before fixing her eyes into the sort of strangely calm gaze--so unlike Hecate’s own--that she always managed to maintain in the most less-than-ideal circumstances.“I can’t seem to move,” she said, simply, voice impassive.Hecate blinked at her, frowning slightly. “Pardon?” she asked, not entirely certain what Pippa meant. Not a freezing spell, surely, or Pippa wouldn’t be moving nearly as much as she was now.Pippa gestured vaguely to the space around her, around Hecate. “Magic,” she said, as though it was the simplest answer in the world. Which, in a way, it was; but it was also one of the least helpful answers in the world.A vague frustration washed over Hecate, until she followed Pippa’s meaningful gaze upward. Hecate swallowed, hard, a vague sort of panic overtaking her.Of course.There, above their heads, was a bright, green, sprig of mistletoe. It was tied with a ribbon, and glimmering very slightly around the edges.





	This Is The Golden Age of Something Good And Right And Real

**Author's Note:**

> Posting this a little late, but I think it still counts. I kind of JUST wrote it, and it's painfully unbeta'd, but hopefully not bad.
> 
> This one is much longer than my others, but I got a good idea for it. I'm actually kind of pleased with this one, and I hope you all like it! Let me know!
> 
> It starts out angsty, unsurprisingly, but gets much softer.
> 
> I'm LOVING reading everyone else's pieces, too. 
> 
> Come visit me on Tumblr and rant to me about Hicsqueak, or Avalance, or anything else. I love to hear from you all! @iliveinfantasylife

It had been a little while, now.

A little while since Hecate and Pippa had finally spoken, again.

A little while since Pippa had uttered her sweet, silly nickname to the dry air on the day of the Spelling Bee, soft and fragile between her lips, as though afraid it might crack and shatter.

A little while since Pippa seemed to forgive her--almost, miraculously--for the thirty years of radio silence. For the thirty years In which Hecate had disappeared, suddenly, quietly, from Pippa’s warmth; straight into the harsh bleakness of her university life, rough and sharp and tasting of ash.

They had come quite a ways in the last few months. It started with the meeting for tea and chess every so often; and moved to them visiting each other’s schools at least once a month. Their mirror calls had made their way into a monthly routine, at first, then weekly; conversation growing, morphing into something far more than just basic, bland pleasantries. They had become long and engaged, and only just a little bit wary, now, just a little worn around the edges. Full of chatter and small sighs and comfortable silences and the sort of conversation you can feel, physically; bite off pieces and taste around your tongue, sweet and wispy like candyfloss.

In a way that scared Hecate, just a little. 

In that same stinging burn; the one that hit her, hard, every time she slipped back into that small window of herself that she’d been in when she left Pippa the first time.

When she’d realized she was deeply, desperately in love with her best friend.

Not just her best friend, but  _ Pippa. _ Pippa, who had grabbed her hand in the hallway one day, right after finding her shoved onto the very top of an old bookshelf, radiating furious magic-like-fire from her limbs, and said, “Hello, let’s get you down from there. You’re Hecate, right?” and never quite let go after that. Pippa, who had bought her a tiny metal hummingbird for her 15th birthday--the sort of decorative, useless thing her father would have never approved of--and said, “It reminds me of you, Hiccup. See, it’s delicate, but strong, too.” Though Hecate had insisted, at the time, that no one had  _ ever  _ called her “delicate” in her entire life.

Only this time, Hecate knew better.

Now, she knew that the torture of loving Pippa was far, far better than the torture of not having her at all.

Or she was, at the very least, older, and harder, and more equipped to deal with something as painfully in the way as  _ feelings. _

And it was in this way, during one of their monthly visits, that Hecate found herself gathering last minute potions ingredients with Pippa, at Cackle’s right on the edge of the holidays, before ice overtook the world outside.

Hecate had to admit, looking back on it now, that perhaps gathering half-frozen plants, their thorns sticking twice as hard into their skin, was not the best idea for one of their monthly get-togethers. But each time that Hecate had started to say something, formed a brief, but formal, apology on her lips, Pippa had waved her off before she’d even got the chance to start.

“I can see you’re feeling bad, Hecate, but don’t. I’m here because I want to be.”

So Hecate had snapped her mouth shut, and focused on gathering, and collecting, bottling, and not turning Pippa’s words around and around in her brain until the simple thought of them made her dizzy.

They had just finished, just made their way back into the castle, half frozen and worn, when they turned the corner into the hallway that lead to Hecate’s rooms.

Pippa stopped short in the doorway, causing Hecate to smack roughly into her back. She let out a small, brief sigh of annoyance, glancing around her. Suddenly, she froze. She turned around, eyes wide, mouth formed into a small “o” shape.

“ _ Pippa,”  _ Hecate snapped, a little waspishly, hand clenched tightly around a bottle of stinging nettles. “What happened?”

Pippa bit her lip, lightly, before fixing her eyes into the sort of strangely calm gaze--so unlike Hecate’s own--that she always managed to maintain in the most less-than-ideal circumstances.

“I can’t seem to move,” she said, simply, voice impassive.

Hecate blinked at her, frowning slightly. “Pardon?” she asked, not entirely certain what Pippa meant. Not a freezing spell, surely, or Pippa wouldn’t be moving nearly as much as she was now.

Pippa gestured vaguely to the space around her, around Hecate. “Magic,” she said, as though it was the simplest answer in the world. Which, in a way, it was; but it was also one of the least helpful answers in the world. 

A vague frustration washed over Hecate, until she followed Pippa’s meaningful gaze upward. Hecate swallowed, hard, a vague sort of panic overtaking her.

Of course.

There, above their heads, was a bright, green, sprig of mistletoe. It was tied with a ribbon, and glimmering very slightly around the edges.

Pippa sighed. “A holding spell, I think. A fairly simple one, probably one of the girls’ idea of a prank?”

Hecate gritted her teeth. She wasn’t overly fond of pranks; the sheer amount of them that had been used against her, as a girl, in school, had given her more than just a minor distate for them--she had a deep, utter loathing of them. Harsh names and harsher words; tiny pinching fingers on her back, her arms, her legs when the other girls knew Miss Hearthfire wasn’t looking; an entire tub of frog’s livers, its slimy contents slowly making its way down the back of her robes when she opened her door to run to a test in the morning. And Pippa, herself, finding Hecate, more than once, shoved into an enchanted closet that wasn’t really there, face pressed to her knees, attempting to breathe deeply in the cloying dark.

Pippa must have noticed this, must have remembered; must have seen  _ Hecate  _ remembering, at the very least. Because suddenly, her eyes changed, softening around the edges; she touched a light hand to Hecate’s arm, fingers barely brushing over the surface of the fabric covering Hecate’s skin. Hecate flinched, despite herself, and regretted it the second Pippa’s hand retreated, leaving a warm, tingling space where her fingers had been, even through the fabric.

Hecate glanced away, clearing her throat. “I, um. I suppose we should work on breaking this spell, then.”

Pippa nodded her head once, very slightly, eyes raking over Hecate’s face. “I suppose we should,” she said, softly.

Hecate closed her eyes, and pressed her magic into the invisible wall around them. It rippled in her mind’s eye; yellow and glimmering, a strange, almost malleable barrier. 

A typical holding spell, then.

Not cast by someone especially strong--one of the students, no doubt--but imbued with the ancient, deep magic of tradition. One of the strongest magics, in fact, and the most deep-seated. Year after year of students casting spells, of students hanging magical mistletoe, of students pulling pranks exactly like this one just in time for the Holiday Ball. 

And Cackle’s, being a very old and well-established magical school, had absorbed every bit of this tradition into the walls. The stones had gathered the magic like water, porous and breathing, seeping the words into the walls like their own magic seeped into their blood.

Hecate wrapped her magic around herself, shoving it into the spaces between the stones, crawling into the cracks, feeling around the rounded edges of the invisible wall and attempting to peel it away.

But it was hopeless, and Hecate knew it.

Just as she knew the only way to break a spell such as this, under the mistletoe.

She frowned, deeply, pursing her lips. “Well,” she said, haltingly, a sense of dread overtaking her. “It appears that. We are trapped. Here.” The words came out awkward, stilted; stiff like her spine, her arms, her face. All tense, and rigid, and full of the animal instinct to flee. “It’s too deep, in the stone. To remove it. Without breaking the spell.”

Pippa’s eyes widened, for just a moment, before settling back into a calm resolve.

“Well, then,” she said, her voice a good deal breathier than it had been a moment ago. “I suppose we should…” she trailed off, tilting her head, slightly, eyes darting to Hecate’s lips.

Hecate resisted the urge to lick her lips, and swallowed.

“It’s one of the more... _ ancient  _ traditions. Best to just. Do it that way.”

Hecate felt a deep unease settle in her chest as Pippa nodded, once, moving just slightly closer to her under the dim glow of the mistletoe. Her heart thumped wildly, her pulse betraying her, her magic sparking lightly around her fingers. Hecate closed her hands sharply into fists.

Pippa lurched forward first, cupping a gentile palm around Hecate’s cheek, and pressed her lips, almost imperceptibly, to Hecate’s.

It was like the whole world exploded. Breaking, moving, shattering into sharp, shimmering pieces, glittering like shards of glass, coming back again into something new and bright and shining.

Hecate held her breath as Pippa pulled away.

“Hecate…” Pippa breathed, and it fell over them like smoke; a thick, humming silence filtering in.

Hecate stood there, chest constricting, sharply, pulling taut around her ribs until they felt like they were breaking. Her whole body felt wild, humming, coursing with a hot, raging fire through her veins. She turned away, quickly, voice coming out quiet and rough.

“Well I’m. Sorry,” she pressed out, between pursed lips. “That you had to do that in order to simply move around the castle, Pippa.”

She swallowed again, hard, still looking carefully at the wall. “I had better put these ingredients in the potions classroom. Feel free to. Enter my quarters.”

And with that, she flicked her hand up, lightly, and transferred away before she could see the inevitable disappointment and disgust in Pippa’s face.

She didn’t go to her potions classroom. Not right away. Instead, she transferred herself to the smallest greenhouse in the gardens. It was still warm, there, and almost unexpectedly damp.

She floated her way to one of the far window beds, bracing herself against the far wall, attempting to breathe deeply through her nose. She inhaled the rich, calming scent of soil; the fresh tanginess of the leaves.

The absolute blaze of Pippa’s kiss, still coursing and electric through her veins.

_ Not. That. _

Hecate exhaled, deeply, shaking just slightly, through gritted teeth.

She had just gotten Pippa back.

And she was absolutely, unequivocally, going to lose her again.

Because she was sure that Pippa would have heard the thump of her heart, felt the roaring of her blood, far too fast in her veins.

And she knew, she  _ knew _ , that Pippa didn’t feel the same way.

She didn’t hear the small  _ pop _ of another person appearing beside her.

She smelled Pippa’s presence before she saw her--the fresh, clear scent of rosewater and lavender, slicing through the silence and stillness of the damp earth.

“Hiccup.”

Pippa’s voice was soft, and harsh, and just a little broken, and the use of her nickname made Hecate’s heart jolt, every single time.

Hecate glanced up, surprised by the wariness, and rough edges she heard there.

She opened her mouth to respond, but her mouth felt as though covered in sawdust, and she choked, instead.

Pippa stalked over to her.

“How could you do that?” her voice was cracking, now, jagged and sharp. Hecate took a small step back in surprise. Pippa took another forward.

“You...you  _ left  _ me there,  _ again. _ Again, and after…”

Pippa cut herself off, and shrugged, looking down. A half-smile perched on the corners of her lips.

“I suppose,” said Pippa, quietly, voice far too soft in a way that made Hecate ache deep into her bones, “That I’m not very good at being your friend.”

And there it was, then. Hecate couldn’t help but close her eyes, her heart starting to sink, clenching tight tight in her chest. It pressed and squeezed and pulled until the very muscles came undone.

“I. Understand.” she managed to force out, flat and just a little shaky in a way she utterly loathed.

Pippa shook her head, frustration ebbing off her in waves.

“ _ No, Hiccup.” _ she said, more fiercely this time, and Hecate stared, harder, frozen, cracking open from the inside every time Pippa spoke.

“I’m not good at being.  _ Only _ your friend.”

They stood there for a long moment, and then another, Pippa’s words swirling clouds into Hecate’s mind. They wavered, and tugged, and spun until the full significance of them hit Hecate, suddenly, and all at once. She exhaled, sharply.

“I--just thought--” 

Pippa placed an exasperated hand to Hecate’s shoulder. “Bloody hell, Hiccup. I’ve been wanting to do that for--” Pippa’s voice caught, bubbling into a small, wet laugh in her chest. “My god, for  _ years. _ ” She looked up at Hecate, whose heart was thumping, wildly, pounding erratic rhythms into her ears. Pippa’s eyes were wide, and open, and glassy. A warm, soft brown, staring so hopefully, so unguarded, finally, that Hecate’s breath caught.

She couldn’t think well, couldn’t figure out what to say, had never been especially good with words, even in her best moments.

So she leaned forward and kissed Pippa, instead.

If the first time had been fire, had been explosions and galaxies forming and reforming behind her eyes, this time was soft, and fierce, like the waves of the ocean cresting and crashing into her chest. Like Pippa. 

Pippa’s hand came up quickly to cup Hecate’s cheek, to deepen the kiss, and they stayed that way for a long, long moment before finally pulling away, breathless and gasping, buzzing and free.

“So have I,” whispered Hecate into Pippa’s lips, quietly, softly.  _ For as long as I’ve loved you. For as long as I’ve known you. _


End file.
